squids & trains.

i stood on the other side 

of the security tape. 

watching as my lovely mother 

extended her passport 

[with two hands]

to the security guard. 

she flashed the peace sign. 

her shoulders signaled 

a deep and slow sigh. 

a final goodbye was mouthed. 

and then my lovely mother 

disappeared behind the security barrier.

i stood very still.

the people bustled around me.

the giant clock hanging high over head 

moved on.

i felt convinced she might reemerge 

from behind that barrier.

but she didn't.

she journeyed on.

breathed in. breathed out.

and i realized i must too.

i caught the express subway.

from incheon international airport 

to seoul station.

and just like that, we pulled away.

we were moving.

the ever-prompt and informative

korean public transportation system 

with the flashing screen 

in multi-languages 

informed me

this ride would take approximately 

54 minutes.

and i realized...

i'd stayed too long at the airport.

and i was going to miss my 5:00 pm [17:00] train,

bound for my Korean home.

but as luck would have it.

i stepped onto the KTX train

car number 12.

seat 14D

at 4:59.and a half...

just as the doors were closing.

just having sprinted up four levels of escaladers.

from the very deepest depths of the world

of seoul subway systems,

my breath was heavy 

as i approached my seat, 

"아줌마..??" 

adjumma...

i addressed the older woman who would be 

my seat-mate for the ride.

she smiled kindly and stood to move

so i could slide between her 

and the window

into 14D.

and just like that, we pulled away.

we were moving.

the Korean country side

blurred in and out of my distracted attention.

i tried to read.

i tried to listen to a "this American life" episode.

my seat-mate slowly and methodically read

her newspaper.

without warning.

a few tears settled themselves into my eyes.

and they would not be blinked back.

my face.

it was turned from her [my seat-mate],

out the window

to the rolling rice patties

perfect in their twists 

and playful, deliberate turns.

the next thing i knew.

my seat-mate adjumma

was offering me half the package

of her snack,

dried squid.

with a little wet-wipe even

for my assumedly dirty hands.

she wouldn't even look at me

as i fumbled through my feeble polite-Korean 

language attempts.

she pushed the squid into

my hands with serious force.

her face barely hinted at a smile.

her act was done out of necessity.

not for her.

but for me.

how could she tell?

was it the few measly sniffles

that made their escape from my tight throat

into the wide wide world?

or was it something about her mother's heart,

that just knew?

i hate dried squid.

but this one.

went down brilliantly.

and i never tasted something so sweet.

and just like that...

we kept moving.

letters and the post office.

it's faster to type.

you'll get it momentarily, 

if not instantly.

i can

:::skype you.

IM you.

email you.

facebook you.

facebook chat you.

gchat you.

tweet you.:::

did i miss any?

in a world of utter connection 

:::exchange of pictures.exclamations.words.memories.news::: 

staying in the loop 

with the happenings of, 

well just about anyone, 

is a breeze.

:::the president of Yemen.my sister living in India.my girlfriend country hopping from Egypt to Saudi with her family.my little cousin's latest soccer game.and my friend's hot date last friday:::

but there is something to be said

about receiving [and sending] mail 

that cannot be matched.

i'm talking about mail, 

the kind embraced in an envelop. 

the kind you lick to close...

[hoping you don't cut your tongue]. 

the kind where you have to look up 

the other's postal address.

 the kind dropped into the little 

red [or blue] box on the corner.

 the kind that is still 

a complete mystery of how it goes 

from that little red[or blue] 

box on the corner, 

over highways and under bridges, 

to airports and over 

rivers and oceans, 

trucks to little vehicles, 

to the small satchel the man 

with blue pants 

[who sincerely hopes the receiver owns

no canine to speak of] 

to...you.

the kind when the little PO Box lid 

is lifted in mindless routine. 

the kind that catches something 

in the gut, 

something like small sparks 

igniting from the eyes to the

 stomach and back again 

when that little-traveled-envelop 

catches your attention

in the mail slot

and you know that little message.

is intended 

for you.

so here i am.

living in the land of stationary stores 

literally around every curve and bend. 

and with unbelievable graphics 

and English-tag lines like this...

HAPPY DAY! ! !

when your feeling down, take a bath. you'll look better and feel cleaner too.

how can you you not stock up, 

buying stationary for 

everyone you know?

[INSERT PICTURE HERE].

Korean post offices

think of everything.

i mean really.

there's the packaging and addressing station 

complete with four different 

kinds of tape, 

various markers with which 

to address your mail, 

spectacles 

[in case you forgot your glasses at home], 

a choice of 20 different sizes 

of boxes and envelops.

i waited in the international line,

with all the ladies.

assumedly mothers. 

clutching their varying sized parcels

 of gimchi, 

the Korean national food.

a few letters and 

small birthday package

in hand.

packed and ready to go.

i gave them one last look

and a wish for safe traveling.

i tried to imagine the moment when 

my friends,

my grandmother,

my cousin,

would pull the lid to that mailbox.

i wondered if the butterflies, 

the catch in the throat

would come.

until next post office visit.

watch your postbox!